


land of opportunity

by remaya



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Harry Potter: Hedwig Mystery, Humor, M/M, Romance, fantastic beast elements are minimal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remaya/pseuds/remaya
Summary: Harry is the Prince of Wales, sent to Ilvermorny on an exchange program for diplomatic reasons™. The thing is, Professor Riddle detests royalty.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	land of opportunity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miraculous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraculous/gifts).



> not explicit yet. we'll get there

1

“You eating that, prongslet?” 

“You can have it,” Harry says, pushing the rest of his airline meal towards Sirius. He’d barely picked at it. He doesn’t bother reprimanding Sirius about the nickname--Sirius knows that nicknames are forbidden for royals, he’s just...he’s never been one for rules.

Tonks twists around in her seat in front of Harry and Sirius, frowning. “You need to eat something, Harry, you skipped breakfast too.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry tells her over the dull roar of the plane. He fiddles with a plastic fork, then sets it down to look out the window, barely containing his nerves. The novelty of flying economy class had worn off a few hours ago.

Tonks huffs, but when Harry doesn’t pay her any attention she turns back around, muttering about how coddling isn’t in her job description; Sirius barks a laugh, drawing an annoyed look from the mother on the other side of the aisle.

Charlie leans over the back of Harry’s seat. “I’ll fetch you more of those pretzels,” he offers.

“Yes, please,” Harry thanks him fervently, because Tonks has been making a big fuss every time Harry gets up to go to the loo. Getting pretzels isn’t a part of the job description of Harry’s security detail, but Charlie’s nice like that. Unlike Tonks. Tonks, as far as Harry’s been able to find out, is a straight-laced wet blanket who’d wipe her superior’s ass with perfect protocol.

“This flight is so long,” Harry says to Sirius, quietly since the baby across the aisle just fell asleep. “It’s been _hours_ , Sirius. I thought the delay would do me good but it’s only given me more time to agitate myself.”

“Sleep or something,” Sirius says, focused on stacking his and Harry’s flatware. “You might want to for our dinner later, and the jet lag is going to hit you hard tomorrow.”

“It’s day in America right now,” Harry says. “If I stay awake I can sleep tonight, and I’ll adjust quickly. Hermione said so.”

“Ah, yes, and Hermione’s always right,” Sirius says drily.

“She is,” Harry says, completely missing Sirius’ wry tone. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. Ron, too. At least Malfoy’s not on this flight--” he looks at the back of Tonks’ head, then decides that his guards are hired to keep silent, anyway “--I don’t think I could deal with him for this long.”

“Demonic Draco.”

“Exactly,” Harry says. He relishes in being able to say what he wants for the time being--goodness knows that he won’t be able to speak so freely at Ilvermorny, where everybody’s going to be watching him. “Although I wouldn’t quite call him demonic, he’s more just… disgusting. Always trying to butter people up, and then acting like he’s the superior one. ‘My father will hear about this,’” he imitates in a nasally voice, “‘oh no, my precious hair, did you hear about that affair with the goat and Dumbledore’s brother,’ as if his own father doesn’t have a disturbing obsession with peacocks. I pity Narcissa Malfoy.”

Sirius tries to hold in his snorts of laughter for the sleeping baby and her poor mother, but doesn’t quite succeed. Harry goes on about Malfoy for a little while longer; Sirius, bless his heart, listens despite having heard the same iteration of this many times over the years. Sirius eventually asks, “What about Lovegood and Bones then? They’re on exchange with you, too.”

“I don’t really know about Susan Bones,” Harry says, “but I doubt she likes me. She’s kind of terrifying-- her aunt’s Amelia Bones, who used to be in special forces. But she’s not important enough for mum or dad to want me to associate with her, I guess. She’s a Hufflepuff.”

Tonks twists around again with a glare. “ _I_ was a Hufflepuff.”

“And I respect you for it,” Harry says automatically, to smooth things over. He’d forgotten--she’s new to the guard, he doesn’t quite trust her yet. “I really do. I didn’t mean that as an insult. Hufflepuffs are vicious, I wouldn’t want to get on their bad sides.”

“Keep that in mind,” Tonks says, mildly appeased, and she turns back around.

Harry would say _what’s her problem_ if Britain’s reputation and his safety didn’t depend on keeping conflicts to a minimum. Instead, he lowers his voice and changes the subject. “So, Bones is nice enough. I don’t know Lovegood at all. Ron called her Loony Lovegood but she doesn’t talk much, dunno if she got her father’s genes. We’ll see, I suppose. I think I’d do better if Ron and Hermione were here. Hermione said America has weird toilets. And that everything’s bigger.”

“You’re rambling,” Sirius says. “Eat a pretzel packet, and then I think you should sleep.”

“I can’t sleep, and I’m out of pretzel packets,” Harry says.

“Not anymore,” Charlie says, summoned by the phrase. “Here.” He dumps an armful of them into Harry’s lap. “Didn’t even have to charm the attendants, just mentioned you and they handed these right over.”

Harry would feel guilty about using his status as the prince of Wales to get what he wants, but pretzels aren’t exactly a large matter, are they? “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Glad to help,” Charlie says, sitting down. “Don’t eat too much, the dinner’s tonight.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Harry says, “I needed to worry more.”

“Tone down the sarcasm a little,” Charlie says, a quirk to his mouth.

Sirius nods in agreement. “Wouldn’t want to scare Piquery off before you even step foot on campus.”

“It’s Madam President Seraphina Picquery,” Harry corrects automatically. “Stop laughing at me. I see your shoulders shaking, Tonks, stop. It’s important, she’s the dean of Ilvermorny and I have to--I have to make a good impression.”

“Relax,” Sirius says. “She’s the one welcoming you, not the other way around. She’s the one supposed to be nervous.”

“Have you ever seen the woman nervous?” Harry says, his voice jumping a little. He lowers his volume, glancing guiltily across the aisle. “You’re not the one who has to maintain _Britain’s reputation._ ”

“Stop being dramatic and eat your pretzels,” Charlie says. “I got those with my own blood, sweat and tears. Enjoy them.”

“I’ll save them for later,” Harry decides. “I can’t eat right now. If I start I might not be able to stop and then Madam Picquery will be offended that I don’t eat enough at the dinner. You are all too calm about this. I just know it, I’m going to slip and say something stupid. Sirius, you have to stop me if you sense it coming. Or actually, not you, you don’t have a sense for these kinds of things. Tonks, you’ll help me, won’t you?”

“That would be outside of my jurisdiction,” Tonks says without turning. “Just do your job and put your etiquette classes to good use. Haven’t you been doing things like this your entire life?”

“I’m doomed. This is worse than luncheons with the Minister, at least Cornelius is predictable, and they’re private. Did you know, Skeeter’s going to be there today? _Skeeter._ ”

The mother leans across the aisle, glaring. “Young man,” she says, and she only continues when Harry and his guards are all looking at her. “Please quiet down. My baby is sleeping. I can’t hear exactly what you’re saying but even _I_ can tell that you’re worried over something that ought not to be worried over.”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Harry apologizes, incredibly guilty, “I’ll be quiet. Is there anything I can do? Would you like a few pretzel packets?”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” the mother says. “I’d appreciate some pretzels.”

“Here,” Harry says, leaning precariously over Sirius’ lap to hand every one he has to her. Sirius steadies him. “I’m sorry, again.” A few of the packets fall onto the ground. “Ah, I’m sorry. Please, don’t--I’ll get those.” He bends down, Sirius’ hold on his hips now the only thing preventing him from toppling headfirst onto the ground. As he hands the pretzels packets over, he realizes that his large sunglasses had slipped off his nose and onto the floor. Hastily, he scoops up the sunglasses and shimmies backward with Sirius’ help.

“You look familiar,” the mother says before he’s all the way back in his seat. Harry freezes, half on Sirius.

“Ahah,” Harry laughs awkwardly. He accidentally meets the unimpressed stare of the handsome man on the mother’s other side, and flushes.

Sirius says, “Coincidence, perhaps?”

“Maybe,” the mother says, doubtfully. Harry doesn’t hear her say to herself, “It’s strange, though…wearing sunglasses on a plane… and his eyes...” nor does he notice the sharpening of the handsome man’s gaze. The man pulls out his cell phone.

By the time the plane lands, Harry has napped a little, against his will. Sirius is just too comfortable and warm. Harry’s less anxious as they disembark and navigate the airport--it’s reassuring, to be sandwiched between Sirius and Charlie with Tonks ahead of him and four others discreetly covering the back and roaming about. Charlie even sneaks him a few more pretzel packets.

Harry breezes past the mother and the handsome man at baggage claim, too busy pushing down his embarrassment to notice anything unusual, when suddenly there’s a commotion and he’s blinded by camera flashes.

“Prince Harry!” somebody yells, echoed by several dozen other voices, and Harry immediately straightens. He’s not on official business, so he’s in trousers and a coat--not a suit, but it’ll do, he decides, and he takes off his sunglasses, stores them away, slips his gloves on in his large coat pockets, and starts waving and smiling. This isn’t the first time paparazzi’s caught up to them, and it probably won’t be the last. Fuss always finds him.

Tonks gives Harry a strange look at the one-eighty, which he ignores in favor of shaking hands with a particularly enthusiastic reporter.

“How are you finding America?” the reporter shouts over the din, and a microphone is shoved into Harry’s face.

Harry locks away his feelings and takes it with grace. “I have just disembarked from the plane, so I have not had the chance to experience much yet, but I’ve heard that it is lovely.”

Somebody else catches his attention with frantic waving. “How do you feel about--”

“Sir, do you--”

“What’s your opinion on--”

“Your Royal Highness, is it true that--”

“Please give Prince Harry the courtesy of space,” Sirius says, not particularly loud but assertive enough to have his orders followed, as the rest of Harry’s guards help shield him from the growing crowd. Harry sees a muscle jump in his jaw. Sirius is pissed.

“I have enough time to answer a few questions,” Harry says. _Sirius, don’t do anything stupid._ “As long as I am asked one at a time, please.”

One reporter jostles his--her? Harry can’t tell, they’re sporting an androgynous look--way to the front of the group. “Jaiden Rosales, Your Royal Highness,” they introduce themselves breathlessly, with an awkward bow.

“Pleasure, but please, there’s no need for formality here,” Harry says, offering his hand to shake. Two pumps and eye contact. Smile. They seem fairly young, and starstruck. “I’m just Harry, and I will be for the duration of the Hogwarts-Ilvermorny exchange program.”

“Of course!” Rosales looks a little blindsided. “Just one question, sir...I swear I had it on the tip of my tongue…” They hastily check their notebook.

“Is it true?” another reporter interjects loudly. “Are you gay? What’s your response to Cormac McLaggen’s claim that you--” and the clamor starts up again.

Harry nearly sighs, but he reigns it in at the last second. All in all they’re delayed for nearly half an hour, and they only extract themselves by the virtue of Tonks. Tonks is a heaven-sent angel. She knows what she’s doing and she’s not another Pettigrew--Harry’s infinitely relieved.

“What?” Harry says in response to her raised brow, as soon as they’re out of the fray and he’s disguised again. They’re meandering for the backdoor that they would’ve been at sooner if Harry hadn’t wanted to go to baggage claim to see what it was like; the others have split up and have Harry’s luggage, to keep Harry inconspicuous after the paparazzi incident.

Tonks opens her mouth, then hesitates. “I didn’t say anything,” she says, after a pause.

“I can feel you judging me,” Harry says. But he’s not feeling mean, only tired, so he offers, “Is it the pretzels? Of course it’s the pretzels.”

Tonks takes the out. “You’re like a squirrel. I felt the pretzel packets through your jacket while getting you away. Really, Harry?”

“Charlie snuck them to me, blame him,” Harry says. “And I like pretzels. Hey, could we get some McDonald’s?”

“The Queen _specifically_ said not to let you…”

“It’s right there,” Harry says. “We can be in and out very quickly. Mum’ll be none the wiser. I’ve always wanted to try McDonald’s, Tonks, Uncle Fleamont always says it’s good but never lets me have any, Sirius and Charlie and the rest think it’s funny, but you’re new, you’re my only hope--”

“The Queen forbade it,” Tonks says, this time more firmly. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be eating. You’re having dinner in two hours, in case you forgot.”

Harry can recognize a lost cause. He sulks, though only inwardly, all the way until he sees Sirius again, and then Sirius laughs at him so he sulks some more.

While he’s distracted with a souvenir shop, he doesn’t see Tonks pull Sirius discreetly aside for a moment to inform him of the man who’d been watching Harry closely on the plane and in the airport. Within minutes, all of Harry’s guards know, and Harry knows better than to complain when they cut his browsing short to get out of the airport.

* * *

The welcome dinner doesn’t go as badly as Harry had feared. It’s at a cozy, new restaurant in the small college town a half a mile away from Ilvermorny’s campus. Skeeter’s there, as are many other reporters, but Tonks once again works her magic and earns her way into Harry’s good graces by keeping the majority of them away. Picquery is...well, Harry doubts that she knows how to smile--but she has a leaderly charisma, and insists on a less formal atmosphere for the evening.

“How are you finding America?” she asks at one point.

“Lovely,” Harry says. “More beautiful than I expected, and I’m sure I’ll only find more good things to say.”

“We’re happy to have you,” Picquery says.

“Harry’s right, it’s quite nice,” Susan Bones adds. “The mountains looked great from the plane, I can’t wait to explore.”

“We’re on the highest peak,” Madam Picquery says. “Mount Greylock. One of our students would be happy to show you around.”

“Be careful of wrackspurts,” Luna says, dreamily. “I saw a few hanging around earlier. But other than that, America seems wonderful, if a bit large.”

Picquery looks at her for a moment, then continues, “What about you, Mr. Malfoy?”

Malfoy jumps on the chance to talk, having been waiting to show off his vocabulary, or something like that, Harry guesses. Apparently, Malfoy’s already made ‘connections’ with Ilvermorny’s professors, particularly one Mr. Riddle. Harry eats sedately and is glad that not much is expected of him yet. Sirius winks at him from behind Picquery when Harry catches his eye; Harry gives a small smile.

Harry wonders about his roommate. He hopes they’re friendly, and won’t make too much of a fuss over everything. He still has to move into his dorm. Should he call Hermione and Ron tonight, tell them he’s here and safe? Perhaps not; they’ll certainly see it in the news tomorrow.

“--isn’t that right, Prince Harry?”

Harry swallows his bite of chicken to buy himself time...ah, he doesn’t remember what was said. Well, he has a fifty percent chance. “Yes, of course. But please, call me Harry.”

“You’re right, I’m sure you’ll settle in just fine,” Picquery says, and Harry returns to paying attention to the conversation, relieved.

Afterward, Harry and his guards are walking to their hotel, having mostly shaken off their reporters, when Picquery calls from behind him, “Prince Harry!”

Harry stops and turns around, surprised. He touches a hand to Sirius’ tense back, and Sirius steps aside.“A word, if you will,” Picquery says as she nears.

“Of course,” Harry says. He motions for her to keep walking with him. Sirius and Charlie fall back a few paces from where they’d been at Harry’s shoulders.

“I wanted to assure you that the press won’t be allowed on campus,” Picquery says. Harry blinks. “If you see any reporters at Ilvermorny, they are not authorized and I’d urge you to report them. Your safety and privacy is important to us; we’ve taken measures to ensure that you are protected.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. He knows this already, but it’s thoughtful of Picquery to personally seek him out and tell him again. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“Be careful,” Picquery says. 

Harry smiles, nods, and Picquery leaves. 

* * *

The next morning, Harry moves into his dorm, which isn’t truly exciting--the space is a bit small, and his roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s just putting all his things away and rearranging the furniture a bit. It goes quickly with Sirius and Charlie’s help. Harry hasn’t brought too much, really, so Tonks and the rest are out exploring or relaxing or doing whatever they do in their free time. Harry’s clothes and personal items are still in his suitcase back at the hotel.

The view in the dorm is nice, though. The window in the loo looks out over the mountains. Harry’s sure he’ll have a grand time on the toilet. Maybe not; anyone from the outside could be looking in...Harry closes the blinds, disturbed and regretful, while Sirius laughs at him.

There are another two windows in the bedroom; since Harry’s dorm is on the end of the building, these look out into the courtyard that the dorm buildings are clustered around. The courtyard is empty aside from one dark-haired man in a trench coat walking out at a brisk pace, since most students haven’t yet arrived for the spring semester. The man has...very long legs. Harry refuses to develop a long-distance window crush from one glance, but the man's fit.

“What’re you looking at?” Sirius says, breaking the silence. 

“D’you think Hedwig would fit on this windowsill?” Harry says.

Sirius groans. Charlie snorts from the bathroom, where he’s…checking for nefarious plots, probably, Harry has no idea what exactly he’s doing.

“Don’t do that,” Harry says. “Hedwig is perfectly nice.”

“Spare me,” Sirius laments.

Charlie emerges from the bathroom. “Okay, Harry, first of all--Hedwig is a monstrosity. And second, I wouldn’t be opposed to leaving Hedwig in the hotel room and never seeing her again.”

“But you acknowledge that Hedwig’s a her,” Harry points out. “Don’t be cruel. She’s beautiful. Tonks doesn’t have a problem with her.”

Charlie closes his eyes and ducks back into the bathroom, leaving the door open. Sirius says, “That’s because she hasn’t seen the face of evil. She always thinks I’m joking when I mention her. I’m deadly serious.”

“Sirius,” Harry groans.

“It’s not a joke!” Sirius says. “You’re so mean to me.” He raises his eyes to the heavens. “I swear, somewhere upstairs, somebody is mocking me.”

“You’re a grown man, you can take it,” Harry says. They stare at each other with stoic faces, until Sirius breaks first and they burst out into laughter.

“Wrap it up,” Charlie says, apparently having checked the shower drains to his satisfaction. “Harry shouldn’t be late for the orientation session.”

“Wet blanket,” Harry says.

“Be a little less serious,” Sirius agrees.

The three of them look at each other. Sirius cracks first, again.

* * *

By the time Harry steps out of Ilvermorny’s orientation session for Hogwarts exchange students, he’s feeling almost optimistic about the semester. Malfoy tries once again to butter him up-- Harry has to admire his perseverance, at least, Malfoy didn’t _have_ to follow Harry to the States-- but besides him, nobody really bothers him. Lovegood mentions looking for blibbering humdingers in the cafeteria. Harry reckons she’s just a weird one like that.

They get a tour. Ilvermorny in person looks better than the pictures.

Harry doesn’t see a single shutterbug, other than that one Creevey bloke.

* * *

“Hi, I’m--”

“I know,” Harry’s new college roommate blurts out, seeming to have forgotten to step back from the doorway so Harry can enter the dorm. “You’re in the news.”

“Right,” Harry says, suppressing the urge to fidget with his suitcase handle. He runs through Hermione’s advice in his head. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jacob. Kowalski,” Harry’s roommate says. His gaze darts briefly to Harry’s singular suitcase. “Ah-- that’s all you’ve got?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Was I supposed to bring more?”

“No, no, you’re fine! I saw your furniture and stuff on your side of the room earlier. I was just expecting… never mind. I’m so sorry, that was rude, it’s just-- it’s not every day you meet royalty, you know.” Jacob laughs nervously.

“Oh,” Harry says, strangely disappointed. Even though he knew it’d be unlikely, he’d been nursing a small, secret hope to go unnoticed here… to be a normal person, for once.

“No, please don’t make that face,” Jacob says hastily. “I really didn’t mean anything by it. It’ll take some getting used to, is all. Um, please, come in.” He takes a much-needed breath. “I brought cinnamon buns. I work part-time at the bakery, the one on Madison street in town?” He gives another nervous laugh and opens the door wider, with a look on his face that somehow gives Harry the impression that he’d herd Harry through the door if he wasn’t so afraid to touch him.

“Thank you,” Harry says instead of pointing out that he’s touchable, which on second thought sounds kind of weird.

“Just one thing,” Jacob says. “Are the, um, are the bodyguards coming in here too?”

Harry turns around and glares at Sirius and Tonks, who are loitering in the doorway.

“We have a room across the hall,” Sirius says. “Holler if you need us. Nymphadora.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tonks says, scowling. “I’m Tonks _. Tonks._ Five simple letters--” Sirius takes advantage of her distraction to pull her away, with a wink at Harry. Thankfully, he leaves without making another condom joke.

“Sorry about that,” Harry says.

“No problem,” Jacob replies. “Here, try a cinnamon bun. You look like a twig.”

* * *

“Um, Prince—I mean, Harry,” Jacob says tentatively the next morning, in the dorm’s common area.

With great effort, Harry peers at him over his tea. His glasses are fogged up from the steam.

“What’s… _that_ , on the table?” Jacob asks.

Harry processes the question, then squints at the table in front of him. “Tea.”

“Uhm, yes,” Jacob says. “The other thing.”

“Your coffee,” Harry tells him after a long moment of contemplation.

“Yes, that too,” Jacob says. “I meant the _other_ other thing.”

“Oh! Hedwig?”

“Hedwig,” Jacob repeats, with warring disbelief and amusement.

Harry looks at him like he’s an imbecile. “Who else would it be,” he says flatly, and Jacob doesn’t get much more out of him after that, since he refocuses on inhaling his tea. 

Harry is leagues more coherent by the time he finishes breakfast. Jacob doesn’t ask again, though, and judging by Sirius’ expression when he barges in to see it on the table, Jacob is better off not knowing.

* * *

Jacob is a few years older than Harry since he’d served in the military before coming to Ilvermorny on scholarship. He’s growing out his mustache, he’s engaged to somebody named Queenie, and he wants to open a bakery after he gets his business degree.

Harry thinks Jacob could do it-- he feels as if he’s already gaining the dreaded Freshman Fifteen, except he’s a junior and spring term hasn’t even started yet. It’s great. The dorms are cozy, no matter that Draco complains and calls them cramped, and the campus is lovely with a college town comfortably nearby, and the weather’s been accommodating. Harry also visits Boston once, to walk the Freedom Trail.

Hermione is suitably suspicious about everything going well when Harry calls her.

The first day of classes is an abruptly frigid Wednesday. Harry tosses and turns the night before, which isn’t great since he has an unavoidable eight am and he has to make a good impression. Sirius fetches Harry when Harry nearly oversleeps, and as he’s stumbling out of the dorm, Jacob stops him because apparently Skeeter’s run another article with photos of him on tour at Ilvermorny. _Colin Creevey,_ Harry thinks tiredly, _shouldn’t have trusted him and his stupid promises._ He hastily reassures Jacob that it’s fine, he’ll be careful, before walking away as fast as he can with his dignity intact. 

Despite his worries, he arrives early to his eight am. His entourage is not doing wonders for his plans to lay low; a cluster of students near the back start giggling when Harry turns his back to them to snag an aisle seat in the middle of the lecture hall. Harry tries not to react, mostly successfully, while he fishes a notebook and a biro out of his backpack. He doesn’t bother to take his coat off; it’s freezing, for some unfathomable reason.

The professor isn’t here yet. Harry flips to a blank page in his notebook--the front of it is filled with notes from Remus, who teaches the equivalent of this class at Hogwarts. He double-checks that he’s in the right classroom. “The Birth of Modern Britain” is written in elegant script on the chalkboard in the front of the hall, so Harry settles in. 

It’ll be interesting to see what the American perspective is on this subject, Harry tells himself. He hadn’t done any research on his professor beforehand--he hopes that he doesn’t fall asleep, because Mr. Riddle seems like a stuffy, boring old man from the way Malfoy had been singing his praises. He doesn’t like history much in the first place; it’s only his main area of study for his Bachelor of Arts because it’s traditional. If Mr. Riddle is stuffy and boring then Harry might actually scream.

Maybe not _scream,_ since that wouldn’t be proper, but whining a little into his pillow back in the dorm could be excused.

He glances up. It’s five minutes to the start of class. Riddle still hasn’t arrived. Sirius winks at Harry from the doorway; Harry returns a smile, masking his nerves, and sits up straighter. 

“Where’s Malfoy?” Luna wonders abruptly, from the seat next to Harry. Harry startles, swallows some of his own spit on a sharp inhale, and starts coughing as discreetly as he can. Luna raises an arm to pound him on the back, but thinks better of it and fiddles with her radish earrings instead.

“Pardon,” Harry says, a little raggedly.

Luna looks at him with huge eyes. “Sorry.” 

“No need,” Harry says. He clears his throat. “Did you ask me something?”

“Where’s Malfoy?”

Harry’s not Malfoy’s caretaker, but he looks around the lecture hall anyway. “I have no idea,” Harry tells Lovegood. He pauses. “Why?”

Lovegood leans in. “The wrackspurts might’ve jumped him.” At Harry’s blank look, she elaborates, “He doesn’t have anything to ward them off with here.”

“Should we be worried?” Harry says, instead of telling her off for fucking with him.

“Not now,” Lovegood says. “But if he doesn’t find something soon, then I might have to give him a radish. Or two. He attracts a lot of wrackspurts.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “If there’s ever a serious issue, I’d be happy to help.”

“This _is_ a serious issue,” Luna says.

Harry checks the clock, uncomfortable and wishing he was still in bed. “Class is about to start.”

“Professor Riddle isn’t here yet,” Luna says, just as the door slams open and a harried Professor Riddle strides in with Malfoy following, jabbering something about how even consulting would be acceptable. Professor Riddle says something that has Malfoy scrambling to find a seat, scowling when he notices that the seats around Harry are filled.

Harry would be relieved, but he’s preoccupied with how the handsome man from the plane is apparently his professor, and also with how he recognizes that coat. He doesn’t really want to admit that his window stalking back at the dorm, which had happened several times since move-in, had made such an impression on him, but he does recognize that coat.

He’d been eyeing up his _professor._ Harry feels some guilt, and also vindication because he was right, Professor Riddle is very, very handsome up close.

Sirius doesn’t seem nearly as enthused about this as Harry is. In fact, as the Riddle begins the lecture, Harry notices that all of his guards are subtly on alert. Is there some kind of threat? Maybe Harry’s imagining the centimeters Sirius’ hand seems to have moved towards his belt. Harry tries not to worry about it.

The combination of his worry and Riddle’s velvet voice and distracting...everything is the only reason Harry doesn’t nap through the entire lecture. There’s also the fact that Harry has to do well, he’s royalty and next in line for the throne, but that’s not what he’s thinking about while watching Riddle’s muscles flex under his tailored button-up. Or Riddle’s arse whenever he’s writing on the chalkboard. Harry ducks his head down and pretends to be taking notes when Riddle almost meets his eyes and calls on him.

Riddle does seem stuffy, but he’s not boring, and he’s certainly not old. Harry almost feels relieved before he looks down at his notes and realizes that a third of it is gibberish. Thank goodness Riddle hadn’t singled him out, as some other professors have done in the past.

At the end of the lecture, Harry considers taking Hermione’s advice and going up to introduce himself, but then Malfoy springs up from his seat and hurries to capture Riddle’s attention, so Harry figures he can go during Riddle’s office hours on Friday. 

He guesses he won’t get the American perspective on things after all, since Riddle’s British.

* * *

By dinnertime, Harry’s cursing Riddle’s name. The amount of reading to do before the next lecture is insane. And there are short responses that Riddle will “randomly check”--what the fuck? What professor even _does_ that? 

Harry grumbles and hunts through the textbook for ‘evidence to support his claim.’ Footsteps near the common area of his dorm, and Harry lets out an explosive sigh as he loses his train of thought. He’d thought that studying here would be better than going to the library, where there’d be people wanting to meet him or--or other things, equally as inane and exactly what Harry doesn’t need, but _apparently_ not. He’d even been doing so well with avoiding Creevey today.

“Um,” Jacob says, pausing in his struggle with his coat sleeves. Harry doesn’t answer him; he’s remembered, it’s page thirty-six, it has to be. Jacob says hesitantly, “Harry?”

Harry mumbles something indistinct.

“Are you coming to dinner? Or I could bring something back for you…”

The dorm’s door opens, and Sirius pokes his head in to say, “Is Harry ready to go? I’ve heard that the tater tots run out after seven-thirty.”

“One moment,” Harry says.

Sirius raises a brow at Jacob. “Feel free to drag him out if he’s not out the door in fifteen.”

“Um, sir,” Jacob stammers, “I wouldn’t--I mean, I wouldn’t--”

“I want my tater tots,” Sirius says with finality, and he closes the door.

Jacob looks at the door, then shuffles over to look at Harry’s work. He sees Professor Riddle’s name, makes a sympathetic noise, and leaves Harry be.

Twenty minutes later, Harry is bundled up and forced out of his dorm, under Sirius’ threat of dropping Hedwig onto the tiled floor. Hedwig would have shattered, and then Harry would have shattered. Of heartbreak. Sirius doesn’t understand this and says that the world would be the better off for Hedwig’s absence. Harry complains about Sirius to Jacob, and then they step out of the dorm building and Harry complains about the cold.

“It’s not _that_ cold,” Jacob says. “And we don’t even have snow.”

“My extremities say otherwise,” Harry says. “Goodness, everything in America is so far apart.”

“We’ve only been walking for fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes too long,” Harry declares. “If the dining hall isn’t around the next bend I’ll mutiny.”

“That’s punishable by death in the US,” Sirius informs him. “We’re not in the UK anymore, if you’ve noticed.”

Jacob says, “With the amount of whining he’s been doing? He’s definitely noticed.”

“Thanks for listening, Jacob,” Harry says. “You’re a good friend. I’m glad to have you on my side. You’re the best ally a man could ask for.”

“Tone it down,” Jacob says, “I might melt from your praises.”

Harry stops laughing when they arrive at the dining hall and he sees both Creevey and Malfoy through the window; they’re sitting near the doors. Luckily, Jacob’s height and size comes in handy to block Harry and a slouching Sirius from view.

There are giant pretzels in a bin by the pastries. Harry is delighted.

* * *

“Harry,” Hermione says, her voice tinny through the phone. Her disappointment is palpable, even though she’s an entire ocean away.

“You’d understand if you saw him,” Harry says.

“Harry.”

“He’s leagues beyond Lockhart. And _you_ thought Lockhart was fit.”

“You never let me forget it,” Hermione mutters.

“I bet he could just pick me up,” Harry says. “I have this gut instinct. I’d bet you Hedwig that his cock is--”

“Disgusting!” Ron yells.

“Listen, Harry,” Hermione says, after wrestling the phone back from Ron, “I don’t want to bet with you about your professor’s penis. I don’t want to think about how you’d be able to confirm the bet in the first place.”

Harry pauses. “So you’re saying that if Lockhart...you wouldn’t want to shag Lockhart? Because all things considered, he was pretty attractive.”

“Lockhart was a _fraud,_ ” Hermione says firmly, and she hangs up.

Ron calls again. Harry grins.

* * *

“What’s this?” Queenie asks playfully during Thursday’s date night, picking a strand of white hair off of Jacob’s shoulder. “Have you been cheating on me with a grandma?”

“No!” Jacob shudders. “No. That must’ve come from Hedwig.”

Queenie smiles at him. “What’s a Hedwig?”

“It’s a…” Jacob flounders, at a loss for words. “Well, Harry insists that Hedwig’s a she.”

“You’re a little pale,” Queenie says, concerned.

“Sorry,” Jacob says. “I--here, I’ll show you a picture. Just, if you ever meet Harry, be nice about it, okay? He’s very...attached.” He digs through photos of pastries and pulls it up. “Here.”

“Oh, my,” Queenie says, bringing a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders shake.

Jacob hurriedly snatches his phone back. “Queenie, oh, no. Please don’t cry.” It’s a bit of an extreme reaction--Hedwig isn’t _that_ bad, but--

Queenie lifts her head, and Jacob notices with relief that she’s not crying, she’s laughing.

“He got it from the groundskeeper at Hogwarts,” Jacob explains. “I think his name was… Hag-something. Hagrid?”

“I’ll have to visit you on campus,” Queenie says, catching her breath. “Introduce me to Harry. He seems distinctive.”

“Distinctive,” Jacob repeats. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

* * *

On Friday, Harry double checks Professor Riddle’s website--his office hours are in the afternoon, and last night Hermione had pushed him to go introduce himself because what could it hurt? Even if it does hurt something, he won’t be at Ilvermorny for more than a semester. He’ll be graduating Hogwarts and then joining the navy, probably, since it’s traditional to serve for a few years.

He fetches his umbrella and ventures out into the rain. Today, it’s Tonks’ turn to follow him around.

“You sure you don’t want to be under here?” Harry says. “We can share. It’s a large umbrella.”

“It’s only large to you because you’re a munchkin,” Tonks says.

“Oi! You’re only _one_ centimeter taller--barely a centimeter, at that--”

“Save it, _munchkin,_ ” Tonks says. “This raincoat isn’t just for show. Besides, I can fistfight your enemies this way.”

“I thought fistfighting wasn’t SOP,” Harry says.

Tonks shrugs. “You never know. I wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to punch something.”

“I’m aware,” Harry says. “I meant, you were all “rules this” and “rules that” for the past weeks, what changed?”

“Kingsley called me yesterday, said I settled in fine and my probation period is off,” Tonks says. She grins, shark-like. “I’m off the hook. I’m letting loose. It’s time to take the pranks out of the closet.”

“Wow,” Harry says, with admiration.

“I know.”

They find Riddle’s office relatively easily. It’s just across the courtyard from the dorms, which explains why Harry sees Riddle coming and going so often.

Just before Harry knocks, the door opens, and a clearly upset Malfoy emerges, on the cusp of storming out. Harry stands aside; Malfoy doesn’t even simper to him, his only greeting a short “Potter.”

“Malfoy?” Harry says belatedly. He stares after Malfoy’s coattails as they swiftly vanish around a corner.

“Well, in you go,” Tonks says, and she pushes Harry inside.

**Author's Note:**

> beta: [nightmeadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmeadow/works) (psst go read her _oblivion_ it's awesome)


End file.
